Let Her Go
by treasurehuntingforever
Summary: According to the FBI, Emily Prentiss died in 2011. Those closest to her are having trouble letting her go.  Little do they know that she's having just as much difficulty. Rated T for later chapters. AN: Prentiss had plastic surgery!


_We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be._

_-Kurt Vonnegut_

* * *

><p>March 26, 2015<p>

Derek Morgan

Quantico, Virginia

2:03 am

_Let me go_…. It was a whisper, softer and lighter than air. It was a plea and an apology and a careful lesson all in one. But I wasn't going to let her go. I couldn't. So I held onto her hand and didn't let go until the doctors pried our hands apart. Even then, I could feel her touch linger on my hands. I don't think it's ever left me. Her brown eyes and her courage, her loyalty and her quick wit, her everything, it sunk into my skin as they wheeled her into the O.R.

I can hear her whisper late at night when I'm half-asleep. It's been four years, but her voice still comes to me in the cool night air. _Let me go_, she insists. No

* * *

><p>April 9, 2016<p>

Emily Prentiss

Galway, Ireland

12:56 am

The western sea breeze carries the smells of them to me in the night. My eyes open and I look around me in longing. The empty apartment stares back at me, mocking my pang of loneliness and guilt. I still take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air that drifts through the open window and teases the curtains. The air smells like Reid's shampoo, JJ's subtle perfume, Garcia's strawberry bubblegum, Rossi's aftershave, Morgan's musk and the confusing scent of Aaron Hotchner. It's been four years, and I wonder what's changed.

How is Reid? How many degrees has he earned since I last saw him? Have his headaches gone away?

What about Garcia? Is she still as bright and colorful as always? Does she know that I heard her voicemail? Does she know that I replay it every night?

Rossi… any new ex-wives? Any new books? I wonder if he knows how much I need his advice right now…

Who has been protecting Morgan while he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders? Who makes him laugh?

JJ… How is Henry doing? How is Will? Have they gotten married?

Has Hotch been able to stop blaming himself for everything? I wonder how big Jack is now, growing up so fast…

The ocean tide is full of secrets that taunt me in the night. Maybe it's my imagination, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Sometimes, I go stand by the window in the late night air and touch my foreign face. The moonlight lights up my dyed red-brown hair and catches the ghost of a scar stretched over my right breast. So many reminders…

I pluck memories in my dreams like flowers, and their bittersweet scent makes me dizzy.

In the night, I am Emily once more. I can't let her go.

* * *

><p>September 2, 2019<p>

Rouen, France

3:19 am

Eight years is a long time to go without seeing or hearing from your family. I have not had any contact with JJ since I walked away from that table in France. I keep moving around the world every few years and alternating between two of my three identities to ensure that Doyle doesn't find me. I keep convincing myself that this is the best option… the only option. Until Doyle is dead, I can't be Emily. They can't know that I exist. So for now, I'll have to be Louise Francois or Beatrice Campbell. The third identity, Karoline Truman is to be used when I can finally make contact with JJ and Hotch… that's how they'll know to find me.

Someday, I'll see them again, and I'll be able to walk freely through the streets. I try to forget about my new face, but it isn't easy. I haven't gotten used to it in these eight long years, and I don't think I ever will.

* * *

><p>May 14, 2020<p>

Halifax, Canada

11:47 pm

I am going to take a trip to Virginia. It's been so long… I just want to see their faces. Know that they're safe.

Emily Prentiss is dead.

She is dead and Beatrice Campbell is going to Quantico. Beatrice Campbell has express authorization to enter all FBI agencies.

Emily Prentiss is dead, and she's going to see her family again.

* * *

><p>May 21, 2020<p>

Quantico, Virginia

11:16 pm

The building has changed. Everything is bright and white and shiny and new. Sleek computer screens decorate the walls and desks everywhere. As I take the empty elevator up to the sixth floor with my visitor badge pinned to my chest, my breath falters. I shouldn't be doing this… I really shouldn't. I brush my ashy blonde hair from my face as the elevator chimes and the doors slide open.

I walk over to the huge glass wall cautiously, not sure of what I'll see. Most of them have probably moved on by now.

Then I see her. Garcia, with short dark brown hair streaked through with purple, walking purposefully down the hall. She glances at me, and stares as she walks past. She recognizes something about me… my eyes, my stance, my nervous pout. Something. And she passes on by as a tear leaks from the corner of her eye.

I peer into the bullpen and see a familiar lanky figure slouched over a book with his brow furrowed in concentration. Reid has not quite outgrown his boyish looks, although some stubble traces his face. I can't stop looking at him, and the intense realization of how much I've missed him brings tears to my eyes. Then I see him reach into his drawer and pull out a tiny orange bottle. He discretely pops a few pills and returns to his book, massaging his forehead. I notice his lips moving slightly and senselessly as his eyes and fingers twitch. He looks around the room a few times, searching frantically for something that isn't there. Then he takes a deep, careful breath and returns to his reading, massaging his temples.

Suddenly, a very pregnant redhead interrupts my view. She walks over to Reid, and he smiles when he sees her. She leans in and kisses him on the cheek and then on the lips. I allow myself a private, surprised chuckle. Reid is going to be a father! I shake my head in amazement.

I pry my eyes away from the happy couple and over towards Hotch's office. I squint my eyes, and see the nameplate. Unit Chief Derek Morgan. I can see a figure moving behind the half-open blinds, so I walk carefully and slowly into the bullpen. I wander up the stairs, trailing my gloved hand on the rail. I knock twice on the door before I hear that familiar voice. "Come in," it beckons. I turn the knob.

He is sitting at his desk, staring intently at a mound of paperwork. After a moment he looks up hesitantly. "Can I help you?" he asks, and I shake off the bitterness of the fact that he does not recognize me.

"Uhh… sorry," I stammer clumsily as I realize the severity of this mistake. "Wrong door…" I take one last look at his aged face and step out of the office. I bump into Agent Seaver on my way out. Her blonde hair has been cut into a blunt bob, and she is carrying a stack of papers that spill everywhere. I bend to help her pick them up, and quickly dash off before she looks too closely at my eyes. I can hear the faint whispered echo of an "Emily" behind me as I break into a run.

I'd told Morgan to "let me go" all those years ago... but now _I _need to let _them _go.

* * *

><p>May 21, 2020<p>

Ashley Seaver

Quantico, Virginia

11:39 pm

I know her from somewhere…. I know those dark eyes. Those hands, with the slightly mutilated nails. But I can't seem to recognize anything else. Her long, pale blonde wavy hair was streaked through with grey. Her cheekbones seemed too high for her face, her eyelids too large, her chin too pointed, her lips too full and her waist too small.

I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to remember her.

And for some reason, I end up whispering a dead girl's name.

_Emily._


End file.
